


Scourge

by ayuhime



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Best Friends, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:37:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9321860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayuhime/pseuds/ayuhime
Summary: FFXV KinkMeme Fill:Prompto is Noct's Whipping Boy (old tradition where someone else is officially chosen to bear the physical punishments the prince is supposed to get) and Noct has secretly befriended him after years of constantly sneaking off afterwards to apologize and make sure he's ok.Now that he's older, he thinks Prompto is safe. Noct fucks up, bad, and it's decided that Prompto has to fulfill his duty one more time.Prompt from: https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/841.html?thread=267337





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Bad Dad Regis  
> **Non-canon skinny kid Prompto  
> **Some repurposed character roles  
> **Depictions of violence/blood

 

The first time it happens, Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum begins to understand the importance of his station.

 

He is six years old, ‘ _Old enough to be punished_ ,’ his father Regis thinks (and says aloud), for the dishes he broke while running through the kitchen, specifically _against_ what his father had told him several times. Noct is being made to kneel before his father at his throne, to bow his head in repentance, but he’s not sorry… he’s just _scared_. 

 

“Bring the MT,” Regis tells his glaives, and Noct doesn’t know what those words mean. He thinks he’s going to be hit. 

 

Moments later, the two men bring forth, faintly struggling in their arms, a blond freckled boy that looks the same age as Noct. “Bow before your King!” They scream to him, pushing his head and shoulders down to the floor. 

 

The boy is trembling, whimpering softly, but not trying to escape. He knows his fate and is trying to accept it as best as a little boy can. 

 

For the moment, Noctis is confused. He scrambles to his feet and runs to his father’s side, the only semblance of safety he knows. 

 

Then one of the glaives removes a scourge from his belt and unwinds the multiple thongs of thick leather. Noct gets scared and tries to hide behind his father’s legs, but Regis won’t allow it. “Watch, Noctis!” he demands, pushing Noct forward and away from behind the long cape. “This is the punishment for your mistakes.”

 

One glaive tears the shirt off of the boy roughly, nearly pulling him down as the shirt comes over his head. But the boy rights himself up, keeps to his hands and knees like he knows he’s supposed to. He bites his lip and shuts his eyes hard. 

 

The other glaive looks to the prince, then to the King, as he winds his arm back, then sends it forward, whipping the blond’s skin with a deafening crack. 

 

Noct’s eyes are wide as the first blow lands, the dozen or so bands of leather tearing into the skin of the boy’s back. He gasps and his hands cover his mouth, but he can’t close his eyes. The glaives continue to whip the boy, and Noctis stands there helplessly, his eyes spilling over with tears because he _can’t_ close them… 

 

The boy screams every time the whip lands, cries echoing in the large throne room. It hurts Noct’s ears, but it makes him want to scream too. He’s choking with fear, so the screams catch in his throat and he remains silent. 

 

“Enough.” Regis calls after blood starts to drip down the boy’s back. Once the whipping stops, the only sound in the room is the boy’s crying. At Regis’ command, nursemaids come in immediately to gather him, as he is too paralyzed with pain to move his own muscles. 

 

Suddenly, the room is spinning for Noct. His little hands reach out in front of him but find nothing, and he tumbles to the floor, seeing only black. 

 

Noct hears people say the words “fragile disposition” and “naturally weak-spirited” when he wakes up in his own bed and he thinks they must be bad because his father yells at them for saying such words. 

 

Later his handmaiden is giving him his bath when he asks her “Miss Monica, what are MTs?”

 

She pauses, looking away for a moment. “They’re _people_ ,” she struggles using the word, “But… they’re… well, it’s _complicated_ your highness.”

 

“…Are they bad?” Noct asks, his eyes looking big and wet and sad. 

 

Monica sighs, not looking to spoil the purity of a child. “Some people think so, but not all of them are bad. Just like people.” She gives a sad half-smile, lifting Noct’s arms to wash his torso.

 

Noct ponders her words as deeply as any child can, applying it to the few life experiences he’s had. “Was that boy bad? The one with the freckles?” He lowers his voice. “The one that they hit?”

 

“N-No…” She answers carefully. “They hit him because _you_ were bad, your highness.” She doesn’t agree with the practice at all, but it is her job to uphold the wishes of her King, so she does. “Your father doesn’t want you to be injured, but he wants you to learn a lesson all the same. Do you understand?”

 

It was clear that Noct did _not_ understand, but he nods anyway because he wants to look like a big kid. 

 

“If you don’t want them to hit that boy, you have to be good.” Monica tells Noct, tipping his head back to rinse the soap from his hair. “Don’t make your father angry, your highness.”

 

Noct felt like crying because sometimes just _looking_ at his father was enough to make him angry. He promises himself that he’ll do his very best to be good forever, because he doesn’t want to hear that boy scream ever again. 

 

* * *

 

 

When Prince Noctis is ten years old, he is introduced to Gladiolus Amicitia, his future Shield, and Ignis Scientia, his future advisor. The boys are barely older than him, but they already act so much more mature than he does. He wonders if two or three years really makes that much of a difference… 

 

He asks Ignis the same question he asked Monica four years ago and, while he gives a slightly more detailed answer, it doesn’t clarify much of anything. 

  
“They’re humans created in a lab,” Ignis tells him.

 

“But they’re _people_?” Noct asks.

 

“Partly, at least.” Ignis says noncommittally. 

 

He’s frustrated that no one seems to consider it worthwhile to discuss, so when he’s doing his basic sword training with Gladio later that day and throws down his sword in irritation and defiance, Regis decides his conduct ought to be punished. 

 

The memory of the blond boy’s screams come flooding back even before Noct lays eyes on him. When two glaives enter the practice arena, Gladio steps aside, remaining perfectly still and silent like his father prepared him to do in this situation. The glaives have the blond freckled boy, the ‘MT,’ and they present him to the King, holding the scourge again, waiting. 

 

Noct looks at him from the distance they’ve set, noticing his familiar yet changed features. He’s four years older since the last time they saw each other, and he’s taller, has more freckles, and has longer, leaner arms and legs. They make him kneel, and he doesn’t fight at all, keeping his gaze downward as to not commit a crime by looking upon the royalty. 

 

“Don’t do this…” Noct tries, his voice sounding so small. 

 

“If you attempt to hinder this it will only make it worse for him.” Regis warns, letting his eyes burn into Noct for a few seconds before returning to the glaive to give the signal to begin. 

 

Noct clenches his fists as tightly as he can when the first blow lands, trying not to jump or tremble or cry. The boy doesn’t scream as much as he did years ago, but he whimpers and wails in pain with his eyes screwed shut. They keep whipping and whipping, and when Noct sees blood, he looks to his father, expecting him to tell the glaive to stop. 

 

By the look on the glaive’s face, he’s waiting for the same word, but it doesn’t come. 

 

Noct’s heart starts to pound painfully hard in his chest, terrified his father will let this go until the boy is dead. His conscience tells him to stop this, but he knows to heed his father’s warning: _don’t dare interfere_. Instead, he prays to the Six that this will end soon. 

 

“Enough.” Regis says a second later, and Noct has to remember to pray to and thank each individual Astral later…

 

Even Gladio, who seemed to be more of a man than any man Noctis knew, looked shaken at the bloody display before them. There are thick droplets of red painting the padded floor and the blond boy collapses onto them, dirtying his remaining clean skin. Once again, nursemaids come in quietly, not daring to look at the King, to gather their charge and care for him. They take him away quickly, to where, Noct is determined to find out. 

 

“Let this teach you…” Regis begins, walking over the spilled blood, “…to never squander your lessons.” He leaves without looking back at Noct, which makes him even angrier for some reason.

 

Gladio hangs his sword up on the wall. “We’re done for today.” He’s looking to leave just as much as Noct is. 

  
“Thanks.” Noct tells him, all but running out of the training arena.

 

~*~

 

It’s 11:00pm, and Noct has snuck out of his room. He’s hovering around the infirmary, hoping that the blond freckled boy is inside. He hopes to… well, he doesn’t know… but he wants to do something, say _something_ , for the terrible situation he’s been put in. 

 

Noct waits until the hall is clear and approaches the door, pushing it open slowly just enough so he can slip inside. There are enough lamps lit that he can see any occupants of the beds, and he is relieved to see a tuft of yellow hair on the pillow of the farthest bed. Otherwise, the room is entirely empty, not even the apothecary present. 

 

“Excuse me?” Noct says into the room, tiptoeing to the only occupied bed. 

 

“Mm?” A voice answers, taking extra care to sit up in the bed. 

 

Noct comes to the side of the bed, sitting quietly on the one next to it, and waits for him to turn over. 

 

The blond finally, after being visibly pained, finds a comfortable position and looks to the late-night visitor. Once he recognizes him as none other than the Prince of Lucis, he panics. “P-Prince Noctis! Oh my god, I mean, your highness!”

 

“Stop.” Noct tells him, giving him a downcast sort of glance. “I don’t want any of those stupid formalities.”

 

“I’m supposed to…” The blond protests, biting his lower lip in worry. 

 

“My dad isn’t here; he can’t make you.” Noct tells him. “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

 

“I-It’s not your fault, your highness.” He says as if it’s a recited line. “I’m an MT.”

 

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Noct hushes at the sound of footsteps outside of the infirmary. “Do you have a name?” He asks more quietly. 

 

“Of course I do.” He answers, smiling. It’s the first time Noct saw a smile on him, and it is really nice. “It’s Prompto.”

 

“Prompto.” Noct repeats. “I’m Noctis.”

 

“I know.” Prompto laughs, and it makes Noct laugh too, but the mood quickly returns to somber. 

 

“I’m really, really sorry that they hit you.” Noct says, afraid to look at Prompto. “How much does it hurt?”

 

Prompto’s lips form a hard line before he speaks, and he takes a shallow breath. “It’s… not bad.” He lies, because it hurts so much he’ll probably be in bed for a week. 

 

“Can we… be friends, do you think?” Noct asks. 

 

“You wanna be friends with an MT?” Prompto asks, and his concern is so genuine that it makes Noct’s heart hurt. 

 

“I don’t care about that.” Noct tells him, “I don’t even know what it means.” 

 

“You’re nice.” Prompto says, the skin behind his freckles reddening. “You’re not like your dad at all. Oh gosh, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t say that about the King!” He tries to hide his face, but Noct stops him. 

 

“It’s okay.” Noct reaches for Prompto’s hand. “He’s _not_ nice, at all…”

 

The boys turn to the infirmary door as it’s being opened carefully. Ignis stands in the doorway, a look of worry on his face. “Noctis!” He hisses. “Come quickly, your father has noticed your absence.”

 

“I have to go.” Noct tells Prompto. “Will you be okay?”

 

Prompto nods. With the strength of having a new friend, he feels like he can get through anything. 

 

Noctis smiles and hugs his new friend before speeding back to bed before more trouble finds them both. 

 

* * *

 

 

It takes Noct a few years to really learn all about his new friend Prompto, because the only times they ever get to meet are at night after everyone has gone to bed, and even then it’s only for a short time. It makes Noct sad that they can’t be friends in the daylight, but he’s thankful for something over nothing. 

 

He learns that Prompto lives in the Citadel, too, but under close guard, so that’s why Noct never sees him other than their sneaking around. Prompto receives a good education, eats just as well as anyone in Insomnia, and will eventually leave the Citadel to live a normal life. But until the prince ascends the throne, Prompto has been chosen to receive the physical punishment in place of the prince, because it doesn’t matter to most people that an MT was feeling pain, but it bothers a _whole lot_ of people to think that the prince might be hurt. Noct hates that.

 

Noct also learns what an MT is, finally. Well, at least what it is from Prompto’s perspective. MTs are humans created to become soldiers or monsters to fight in wars, but some are failures, destined to go and serve others, and Prompto is one of those failures. Noct doesn’t like when Prompto calls himself that, because nothing about Prompto appears flawed to him. He doesn’t care where Prompto was born or where he came from, he only cares that he is nice and that he is a good friend. 

 

Noct is thirteen years old when he manages to make his father so mad that he summons Prompto to be beaten again. It’s been three whole years since the last time, and Prompto’s wounds have long healed, but it’s still too often for Noct. It may not hurt himself physically, but it hurts his heart so deeply to see Prompto, now his friend, to be roughed up. 

 

Noct doesn’t even know what he said or did to make his dad so angry, but he’s making them bring Prompto before them now. Noct’s scared to look at him, but Prompto shoots him a quick glance that encourages Noct to be strong. Imagine that, Prompto telling Noct to be strong, when he’s about to get the beating of his life. Noct wants to beat himself for being so selfish…

 

A glaive presents the scourge and begins to whip Prompto’s back. This time, Prompto’s cries are more subdued, and Noct wonders if he’s doing it because it hurts less or for Noct’s sake so he doesn’t worry as much. Either way, Noct tries not to cry, because his father will surely be more cruel if he were to shed tears in front of him. 

 

“Wait,” Regis holds a hand up, making the glaive pause his assault. He approaches and holds out his hand, requesting the scourge. Of course, the glaive hands it over immediately. 

 

Noct’s heart drops into his stomach and it makes him feel like vomiting. 

 

Regis is looking at his son, searching his face for a reaction as he tests the weight of the scourge in his hands. “Why must you push me so hard, Noctis?” He asks, bringing down the strips of bloodied leather onto Prompto’s back, earning the high-pitched whimper he finally wanted to hear. 

 

Noct stood shaking, unsure if he should respond or remain silent, trying to keep his eyes focused on anything but Prompto. 

 

“All I’ve ever done is try to shape you into a leader fit to rule over this land.” Regis lays down the blows again, a sharp crack stinging Noct’s eardrums just as much as it stings Prompto’s skin. “Why do you _fight_ me at every turn!?”

 

Noct remains silent, afraid for Prompto more than for himself. 

 

“Answer me!” Regis shouts, bringing another blow down on Prompto. 

 

“I don’t know what to say!” Noct says. “Just please stop hurting him!” He begs, realizing once it’s silent just how loud he yelled back. 

 

Prompto, with tears in his eyes, looks up at Noct speechlessly. 

 

Noct can hear the leather in Regis’ grip as the man’s hands tighten on the handle. “Whip me if you’re angry! I’ll take the punishment for my own mistakes!” Noct’s cheeks feel wet suddenly, and he reaches up only then to notice that tears have streaked down from his eyes. “A King should take ownership for his mistakes, shouldn’t he!? Then, if you want me to become a good King, punish _me_!”

 

Regis drops the scourge to the ground and it falls to Prompto’s feet. The blond remains perfectly still, terrified at the scene before him. The King charges toward his son and slaps Noct across the face as hard as he possibly can. 

 

“Your highness!” The glaive protests, almost instantly regretting it. 

 

“Take the MT and leave!” Regis tells the glaive, unwilling to hear any more from his subjects. They do as they are told, leaving father and son alone. 

 

“How _dare_ you speak to me that way…” Regis growls to Noct, clutching his throat in a nearly suffocating hold. “I would execute a man for that kind of insolence.”

 

“Then do it.” Noct hisses, struggling for air.

 

Regis trembles with fury, his eyes locked with Noct’s for a solid thirty seconds, before he drops his son to the ground and turns his back on him. “Stay out of my sight!” He warns and walks away, leaving him. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Noct!” Prompto brightens when he sees the Prince that night in the infirmary. “You big idiot, what did you go and do all that for?”

 

Noct turns his face, hiding his bruising cheek. “Never mind me… how are you doing?” His voice is low, scratched from yelling and being choked. 

 

“This one wasn’t so bad. Honest.” Prompto even smiles to prove how serious he is. “Why did you decide to fight with him?”

 

“I’m not gonna take him beating you anymore.” Noct’s jaw is tight and he’s gritting his teeth. He’s angry, angrier than he’s ever been in his life. 

 

Prompto worries his lip and shrugs. “I’m used to it, Noct.”

 

It’s the most terrible thing anyone’s ever said in the whole world, Noct thinks, and he bursts. “That doesn’t make it right!” He hides his face in his hands and weeps, completely overwhelmed and drained from adrenaline. 

 

“Hey,” Prompto, breaking all royal decorum, wraps his arms around the prince and pulls him into an all-too-tight hug, ignoring any pain that it causes his fresh wounds. “It’s okay, don’t cry Noct.”

 

Noct hugs Prompto back, careful not to touch lower than his shoulders. “You don’t deserve to be hit. And you deserve to be treated like a person like everyone else.” 

 

“It’s just the way things are,” Prompto says, having accepted it long ago.

 

“When I’m King, I’ll make sure MTs are treated better.” Noct promises. “You’re my best friend, Prompto.”

 

Prompto grabs fistfuls of Noct’s t-shirt, trying to make their hug even tighter. “You’re _my_ best friend, Noct.”

 

At age thirteen, two boys who’d somehow survived on loneliness suddenly knew compassion and warmth and never wanted to be without it again. 

 

* * *

 

 

Noct is sixteen when he learns how to conjure the royal arms and, subsequently, use them to warp. He often sneaks Prompto into his training sessions to show off his new skill to him. Gladio never complains about it, luckily, and even teaches the blond some sparring skills of his own. Prompto is small and not very strong, but he tries his hardest. Once, he takes off his shirt to cool off after one particularly hard practice, and Noct sees dozens of thick scars cover Prompto’s back. 

 

“I’ll protect you if anyone ever tries to hurt you again.” Noct tells him, and he means to keep that promise. 

 

Now that Noct is almost seventeen, he thinks that his father has gotten over the idea of whipping as a form of punishment. It hasn’t happened in over three years, and Regis has lost interest in Noct’s daily occurrences in general, so he doesn’t worry much for Prompto’s well-being in that regard. He finds a thin veil of safety and clings to it. 

 

When Noctis is set to graduate from school, the schoolboard asks him if he would make a speech at the ceremony, being royalty and all. Nothing would be worse, in Noct’s mind, so of course Regis insists that he do it. Noct outright refuses. He has surrendered to many things at his father’s demand in the past, but this would not be one of them. 

 

“ _You_ do it if it’s so goddamned important to you.” Noct argues, folding his arms. He stands before his father at his throne and the room is occupied with several various advisors, glaives, and both the King’s and Prince’s Shields. All look on in terror, wishing Noct wouldn’t be obdurate. 

 

“Noctis,” Regis looks down at him, “Take a moment to reconsider your words, and appreciate the mercy I am showing you.”

 

“Father,” Noct bites, “I will not speak at the ceremony. I feel no camaraderie to those individuals and do not wish to feign such.” He speaks with such a sarcastic amount of properness, it makes Ignis and Gladio cringe with dread. 

 

“So be it.” Regis snaps his fingers and the doors to the throne room swing open. Prompto, eyes so agape with worry, enters after being pushed inside. He falls to his knees, grunting before his hands have a chance to catch himself. 

 

Noct knows what’s about to happen, and he wants to hurt himself for thinking Prompto was safe. “I’m _not_ allowing this!” He fights, looking up at his father with his teeth bared. 

 

“You don’t have a choice, Noctis!” Regis stands and begins to descend the staircase down to the platform where Noct stands. 

  
“But I do and I’m telling you it’s _not_ going to happen!” Noct’s body is pulsing with anger. 

 

“Glaives, restrain my son.” Regis orders, and the glaives practically cower when they hear the order. They move to obey, but are not quick enough. 

 

Noct conjures a small blade, one big enough that will allow him to use his royal magic, and throws it to Prompto’s side to warp to him. Once he finds his footing, he puts an arm around Prompto’s shoulders and holds a newly conjured sword out in front of them both. “Don’t anyone dare touch him!” Noct spits, glaring directly into the eyes of his father. 

 

“Stop this foolishness!” Regis threatens, holding up his hand that dons the ring of the Lucii. Its black gem shines, catching Noct’s eye. 

 

“Stop with your threats!” Noct yells. “What do you mean to do, kill me? Then do it! You’re a coward!” 

 

The irises of Regis’ eyes turn red, resembling those of daemons. He raises his hand above his head and it trembles as he summons the forbidden power of the old Kings from within the magic ring. 

 

Noct feels twisting and pulling in his core, and it extracts all of the air from his lungs. He feels himself being raised up, his feet leaving the floor, gravity dissipating around him yet gathering to push down into his core all at once. There are gasps and cries of horror from everyone in the room, practically everyone trying to talk the King down. 

 

“Noct…” Prompto utters, and it’s his first time speaking in front of the King. 

 

“Your Highness, please.” Ignis pleads as respectfully as he can. 

 

When Regis doesn’t stop, Clarus Amicitia, Gladio’s father and the King’s Shield, conjures his own greatsword and strikes his King, perhaps sealing his own death sentence, but it’s enough to get the King to release Noct from the grip of the Ring.

 

Noct falls to the floor and begins to pant and wheeze for air. Ignis and Gladio rush to him, covering him with their bodies to protect him. Even Prompto, at his low rank, moves to protect the Prince, the most scared out of anyone in the room.  


“Regis!” Clarus questions, stunned at his King’s actions. “What in the _hell_ is wrong with you!?”

 

Regis looks to his Shield, humanity slowly returning to his eyes. He lowers his arm but doesn’t utter a single word. Instead, he pushes past everyone with their critical and disparaging gazes and leaves the throne room, alone. 

 

* * *

 

 

Noct storms into the infirmary near midnight, a knapsack in his hand, his eyes fixated downward. 

 

“Noct?” Prompto questions. “What’s up?”

 

“We’re getting you out of here.” Noct tosses the knapsack on the bed. 

 

“Out of _where_?” Prompto’s eyes follow Noct as he paces. “Out of the infirmary?”

 

“Out of Insomnia. My father’s gone mad.” Noct tells him, his fists clenched and kept at his sides. “Do you have anything important that you want to keep?”

 

Prompto sits up in the bed, starting to panic seeing the agitation on Noct’s face. “Noct, I-I don’t understand what’s going on.”

 

“Prompto,” Noct is breathing heavily, from either anger or fear, Prompto can’t tell. “We don’t have a lot of time, so please trust me. I’m getting you out of here before my father kills you.”

 

Prompto gets up and puts on a pair of shoes. “But what about you?”

 

“…I don’t have a choice.” Noct’s nose scrunches. “But until I’m King, this is all I can do to protect you.”

 

Prompto swallows, Noct’s words crashing into him like a wave. “I… I don’t own any possessions.” He says, looking to the knapsack. Inside it, Prompto can see a sizable amount of gil, along with various potions and clothes. He zips it closed and throws it over his shoulder. 

 

As soon as Prompto takes the knapsack, Noct takes a hold of his hand and starts running, guiding him down unfamiliar corridors and hallways until they end up outside, a running car waiting for them. They climb into the backseat and barely close the door before it speeds off. 

 

Cor Leonis, a glaive who never once hit Prompto, sits in the driver’s seat, expertly weaving through Insomnia’s streets. 

 

“What’s happening, Noct?” Prompto asks again once they’re safe within the car. 

 

Noct stares straight ahead. “When my father used the Ring of the Lucii against me, he probably meant to kill me.” Prompto shudders. “That very moment, everyone saw how cruel and insane he’d become, and their loyalty to him died.”

 

Cor made a little noise from the front seat, confirming Noct’s words. 

 

“I asked a few glaives that I trust to help me get you out of Insomnia, because I knew that his rage wouldn’t stop, and I knew you would be his target.” Noct explains. 

 

Prompto frowns. “What if he hurts you?”

 

Noct doesn’t answer. He closes his eyes for a minute and clears his throat. “I have to endure, I have to ascend the throne and save the people of Insomnia from him.”

 

Prompto respects Noct’s duty, but he doesn’t want to be sent away. He wants to stay in Insomnia, with his best friend Noct, even if it means getting beaten. “Where are we going?” He asks, eyes watching the streetlights as they flash by. 

 

“ _You’re_ going to Lestallum. I’ll ride with you to the border of Insomnia, and there we’re going to meet a man named Cid who will give you a ride the rest of the way. It will take you at least a day to make it there, but once you make it, a woman named Aranea is going to give you a place to live and some work so you can make money and survive.” Noct is glad it’s dark so Prompto can’t see his tears. 

 

Except, Prompto can hear the difference in Noct’s voice, and knows that he’s crying. “Did you prepare all of this?” He asks. 

 

“Ignis helped me, and other glaives too…” Noct tells him. “Technically, we’re all committing treason, but I can’t let this go on any longer.”

 

“Your highness, we’re at the border.” Cor tells them, parking to the side of the check-in point. “I’ll secure your friend’s credentials, so say your goodbyes.”

 

They step out of the car and into the cool night. “Is this goodbye?” Prompto asks, a waterfall of tears gathering in his eyes. 

 

“Not forever.” Noct tells him. “We’ll meet again, someday… I promise.” He hugs Prompto tighter than he’s ever held anyone or anything in his life. “Until then, please stay safe.” He adds in a whisper, his face hidden against Prompto’s shoulder. 

 

Prompto nods, because he can’t speak. He’s clutching Noct and shaking, afraid to let go. 

 

“Come on, kid!” Cor calls over to the blond. “It’s time!”

 

The teens let go slowly, hiding their tears from each other as ‘real men’ might, and Prompto runs toward where Cor waits for him. 

 

Just before they lose sight of each other, Prompto turns one last time and waves. Noct returns the gesture, trying his best to offer a hopeful smile. 

 

He knows this is for the best, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting. 

 

* * *

 

 

‘— _With all of Lucis receiving word of King Regis’ serious illness following the royal conference this afternoon, it has been decided that Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum will ascend the throne in one week’s time—_ ’

 

Prompto pauses, placing down the small circuit board he’s soldering and leaning to his left to turn up the volume on the radio. 

 

‘— _Prince Noctis, who just celebrated his twenty-second birthday, will be the second-youngest King crowned in the history of Lucis_ —’

 

Prompto smiles hearing about his old friend. It’s been six years since he and Noct have seen or spoken to each other. He’s sees a few photos of Noct in newspapers over the years and it makes Prompto really miss him, but he is ultimately thankful for the safety Noct helped him attain. He knows they’ve both been waiting for the day that Noct would ascend the throne, because it means that Prompto’s hiding can come to an end. 

 

But owes so much to Noct for it, really. He can’t imagine what Noct had to endure from his father after it was discovered that the Prince helped an MT escape. Or did the King even notice? Prompto has so many questions ready to ask when he gets the chance to see Noctis again. 

 

For the better part of these six years, Prompto has made a living working with and fixing small electronics, finding he somehow understands them intrinsically, and he enjoys it very much. He becomes familiar and acquainted with many people in the small city, and he is sure that no one knows he is an MT, though they seem to keep from getting _too_ close with him anyway. He smiles through it, waiting for the day he can return to Insomnia. 

 

He picks up the soldering iron and continues working, affixing tiny resistors to a circuit board for a power plant device. He listens to the radio drone on as he works. 

 

‘— _Analysts also say that the Prince has hinted that his first proposed action as King will be to grant extended rights for civilian MTs living in Lucis, a move that has many citizens unsure, yet others positive, about the future_ —’

 

“Oh Noct,” Prompto beams from ear to ear. “You kept your promise…”

 

News of a ‘luxury city car’ driving into Lestallum catches Prompto’s attention the next morning. Many cars outside of Insomnia are shabby little things incapable of reaching tops speeds of even fifty miles per hour, so for people to see such an automotive marvel is a big deal. For Prompto though, who rode in one of those marvels just six years ago, the news means something different entirely. 

 

He wanders near the main strip of Lestallum all morning until he spots it; a sleek onyx car with shining tire rims and 

 

“There you are,” A familiar accented voice calls out, his arms folded across his chest. 

 

Prompto turns toward it. “Aren’t you…” Prompto can’t remember his name, but he remembers those glasses. His hair is a bit spikier now than it was when they were sixteen and eighteen, and he’s taller too. 

 

“…Ignis.” He tells him, a little vexed.

 

“Ignis, right!” Prompto tries a salute, but feels unreasonably silly and lowers his hand slowly. “Sorry…”

 

“No apology necessary.” Ignis laughs a little. “Now come, the King has ordered me to retrieve you.”

 

“The King…” Prompto wonders, that title still bringing an innate fear in him. 

 

“King Noctis Lucis Caelum CXIV.” Ignis clarifies, hiding a smile behind that professionally stoic face. 

 

Prompto nods, climbing into the passenger’s seat when Ignis opens the door for him. He buckles himself in and sighs, thinking ‘ _I’m going home_.’

 

* * *

 

 

The journey to Insomnia takes longer than Prompto thinks it should, but maybe Cid was a fast driver those six years ago. Maybe Ignis is a _slow_ driver? He doesn’t consider the possibility that he’s just so excited that time is simply playing tricks on him. 

 

The city is alive when they finally arrive at the Citadel. Ignis parks right before the stairs leading into the largest building in the city and they step out into the magic that has become the Crown City: bells chime ceaselessly from all directions and shimmering confetti floats in the air like flower blossom petals in spring. There is an electricity tickling Prompto’s skin, a magic present around him that just doesn’t exist in Lestallum. He knows it’s Noct’s royal enchantment that makes that possible and it warms him. 

 

“People are happy.” Ignis tells him as they scale the stairs upward, a tranquility relaxing his own features. “It’s been like this since we announced Noctis’ ascension.”

 

“It’s amazing.” Prompto catches a stray piece of confetti and opens his hand to look at it, but it dissolves into water. 

 

“A blessing from Shiva.” Ignis explains. 

 

Once inside, Ignis and Prompto cross paths with Gladio, who gives Prompto a smile and a punch in the shoulder, his own way of welcoming him back to the Citadel. Prompto’s pleasant memories of sparring with him and Noct come flooding back and he feels at home. 

 

“Are we going to see Noct right away?” Prompto asks, not even realizing the impudence of his overfamiliarity by using the upcoming King of Lucis’ childhood nickname. Even if he did, he knew Noct never cared for that sort of treatment. 

 

“Unless you have somewhere else to be?” Ignis jokes, approaching a set of large doors and opening one, letting Prompto step inside first. 

 

They’ve entered a conference room, a larger room with a long table taking up the very middle of the space. At the far end, being occupied with two older stewards shoving documents and reports into his hands, sits a familiar head of raven-colored hair. 

 

“Your Highness,” Ignis interrupts, an obvious touch of excitement in his voice. “We’ve returned from Lestallum.”

 

Noct lifts his head and visibly stops breathing. He places his hands on the table and stands, supporting himself. “Prompto.” He stares open-mouthed, quite unbecomingly for a King. 

 

Prompto stands unexpectedly still, seized with too many butterflies in his stomach to move. “Hey.” He says, his cheeks flushing. 

 

Without a word, Noct quite literally pushes the stewards out of his way, and rushes to Prompto, clutching his arms around the other so quickly and so tightly that it knocks the wind out of Prompto’s lungs. “You’re safe.” Noct whispers, their cheeks pressed together and Noct’s hair tickles Prompto’s nose. 

 

“I promised you I would be.” Prompto says once he can breathe. The next thing he knows, he’s being lifted up and spun around in circles, Noct’s arms holding him securely. “H-Hey!” He laughs, “Careful with the goods!”

 

“Sorry,” Noct puts him down, but his hands don’t leave Prompto’s shoulders for one second. “I’m just _so_ happy you’re back. Are you going to stay?” The look of eagerness in his eyes is so honest. 

  
“Of course I am.” Prompto makes a fist to show his resolve. “As long as you want me here.”

 

“Don’t be dumb.” Noct elbows his ribs. “This is your home.”

 

One of the stewards clears his throat slowly and intentionally, “Forgive me, your majesty, but we have several things to prepare for your crowning ceremony…” 

 

“That reminds me.” Noct all but ignores the wishes of the steward, who flops over in defeat at Noct’s disregard. “Prompto, I would be honored if you would stand at my side during the crowning ceremony.”

 

“Me? Really? Am I allowed to? I’m not part of the Crownsguard…” Prompto worries. 

 

“I make the rules now, Prompto.” Noct assures him. “And you stand where I say you stand.” His posture is one of strength and tenacity, but his eyes remain soft and gentle as ever. “If you want to, that is…”

 

Prompto nods. “I’d… be honored to.”

 

* * *

 

 

The day of Noct’s crowning ceremony offers blessed weather and the crowd that packs into and surrounds the Citadel extends for miles. Prompto is fitted with his own Crownsguard fatigues that matches those of Gladio and Ignis, and though he feels inadequate to be wearing them, he does so proudly. 

 

Preparations are complete and they all stand in their places around the throne, awaiting the guest of honor to arrive. 

 

The large throne room doors open and music begins to play perfectly in time. Prompto is shivering, trying to get his nerves under control. When Noct steps forward, he is dressed in an all black suit and an asymmetrical cape adorns his shoulders, affixed with golden plates and dangling chains down the back. Prompto can’t help but admire his elegant handsomeness as he walks slowly, carefully, to his throne. 

 

People bow deeply as Noct walks by them and remain until he ascends the stairs. Clarus, Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto alone await him at the top, a privilege none of them have snubbed. 

 

Normally Regis would be the one to crown his son as the next King, but due to his ailing condition, Clarus has stepped in as the King’s Shield to perform the Coronation’s Oath. Gladio’s ego has swelled to massive proportions knowing his father has such an honor, and the guys would tease him about it later. 

 

The room quiets as Clarus opens a worn book, turning to a specific page. 

 

Clarus clears his throat and begins. “Ladies, Gentlemen, Royal members of the court of Insomnia, before you stands Noctis Lucis Caelum, son to Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII, here today to claim or deny the blessings of the Gods and the Old Kings for all to witness.” Clarus pauses. “Sir, is your Majesty willing to take the Oath?”

 

“I am willing.” Noct replies, his voice carrying weight and maturity that Prompto didn’t recognize but respected deeply. 

 

Clarus smirks at Noct and nods. “Will you, to the utmost of your power, uphold the Laws of the Gods and the true profession of the Old Kings?”

 

“This I vow to uphold.” Noctis recites, taking a deep breath.

 

Clarus turns the page. “Since time immemorial, the Astrals have watched over Eos. Will you, just as the Archaean Titan, remain as steadfast as stone?”

 

“I will.” Noct vows, his hand over his heart. 

 

“Will you, just as the Fulgurian Ramuh, remain as sharp as lightning?”

  
“I will.”

 

“Will you, just as the Glacian Shiva, remain as gentle as snow?”

 

“I will.”

 

“Will you, just as the Hydreaen Leviathan, remain as relentless as the tides?”

 

“I will.”

 

“Will you, just as the Draconian Bahamut, remain as unbending as iron?”

 

“I will.”

 

“And will you, just as the Infernian Ifrit, remain as capricious as fire?”

 

“I will.” He says finally, his chest lowering with a heavy exhale. 

 

“Then I, Clarus Amicitia, Shield of the King, do hereby bestow upon you the title of King of Lucis. Please sit upon your throne.”

 

Noct seats himself and Ignis brings forth the crown, carrying it gently. Before he places it upon Noct’s head, Ignis gives an imploring look to Prompto, offering him to hold the other side of it. 

 

Prompto hesitates, looking out into the crowd. They wait eagerly, and Prompto looks to Ignis. He raises his brows and nods. Noct, too, looks to Prompto and gives an encouraging gesture. 

 

Prompto inhales to try and stop his hands from shaking as he takes hold of the other side of the crown. On Ignis’ signal, they carefully lower it onto Noct’s head and the room erupts with cheers. Prompto backs away a few steps, too shy in the limelight, and he feels Gladio pat him on his shoulder. 

 

Noct stands at once, giving a small wave to those citizens lucky enough to be in his vicinity. They begin to chant ‘ _Long live the King_ ’ and it makes Noct proud. Even more, it makes Prompto’s heart warm, especially when Noct turns his back to them all and looks to Prompto, offering him the kindest smile. 

 

“You’re right where you belong, Prompto.” He says, the crown glimmering from the light around them. 


End file.
